Lost
by Love In Vein
Summary: A short angsty vignette set two days before COTC 1. Malachai goes for a late night stroll and faces his worst sin and biggest regret.


Title: Lost   
Author: Love In Vein  
Summary: A short angsty vignette set two days before COTC 1. Malachai goes for a late night stroll and faces his worst sin and biggest regret.  
Disclaimer: Well, we all know Stephen King owns the original story. Malachai, etc. are owned by Paramount, and anyone I mention that's not in the movie is owned by me.  
  
  
  
Malachai was startled awake. He glanced out the window and cursed softly. It was only one in the morning, much too early to be awake at all. Sighing, he slipped out of bed. 'Well, no use trying to go back to sleep now. It will never happen anyway,' he thought. He changed into his work clothes and silently walked down the stairs, his body on autopilot. It knew exactly where he wanted to go.   
  
Malachai had always had insomnia, ever since he was a little boy, and it had only gotten worse with time. He usually never got any more than three or four hours sleep, and that would be on a good night. He usually spent the remaining hours doing something useful but tonight, well tonight, was different. Things were on his mind, and those things were slowly festering within him and threatening to take hold. It was time to clear them out, thrust them into the light of consciousness and turn them to dust.   
  
His feet kicked up dust on the dirt road and he lifted his pale face to the moonlight. Ah, the beautiful moonlight. His constant friend and companion. His only friend and companion. There was no one else for Malachai, and there could never be. He would never allow it. Too much chance for betrayal and ultimate hurt, and there had been enough of that for him to last a lifetime. Not that he was blameless. He knew that all too well. But why would he let a soul in? And besides, there wasn't anyone to let in anyway. He had cultivated his reputation and darkness well. They were afraid, and that was good. Afraid people don't betray those they are afraid of. His father had taught him that. Malachai's lips curled into a sneer at the very thought of his father. Ha, his father. What a joke that was. Damn dirty old man. Well, he supposed that his father was no worse than any of the other children's. He knew that they were all in the same boat, they all had the same legacy. Bruises, cuts, burns, shame. Maybe that was why they had all taken so well to Isaac. Many of them, especially those who had befriended Isaac in the beginning, had been so hurt. Why would they have qualms about the death of that hurt?   
  
Oh yes, Isaac. Little midget-y, cowering, wimpy, ego-trip Isaac. If there was anyone who deserved to be betrayed and manipulated, it was him. Malachai had long ago stopped believing in the true power of Isaac. He kept up the facade of true believer, yes, but everyone knew that he was the one with the real power, not Isaac. Isaac may have "visions," but anyone with half a brain could see it took muscle, not knowledge, to keep these children in line. And he had that in spades. Anyone could stand up to Isaac. What did he have besides a book and a big hat? But who wanted to cross Malachai and his knives? No one, that's who. Malachai grinned to himself as he thought of this great power he held in his hands.   
  
He stopped in front of a large and imposing looking barn and lit the lantern that rested near the wall. The heavy wooden doors groaned in protest as Malachai pushed them open and stepped inside. He held the lantern aloft and gazed adoringly at the sight in front of him. Scythes and knives of every shape and size hung on the walls and lay scattered on the floor. This was his refuge, his place of solace. The only place he felt totally comfortable, really. It was also the place where he felt haunted and suffocated. This was the only place that held the last scrap of who he used to be, and only reminded him of past sins and wrongs. It held within its walls his only regret and the only thing for which he felt remorse. He whispered a small prayer to clear his thoughts and protect him from evil, then lowered himself onto a small pile of hay and stretched out. He let out a deep yawn and suddenly his eyelids began to get heavy. He was asleep.  
  
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"Malachai? Maaaalachai? Why did you do this to me? I'm sorry if I hurt you. Can't you just understand? I've agreed to marry Jeremiah. I could never turn my back on him, and I can't love you. You were always so nice to me, Malachai, I hope we can be friends."   
  
A girl wearing a faded blue dress and straw bonnet looked at him, confusion in her dulling brown eyes. A knife protruded from her stomach, blood pumping steadily out of the wound. She reached out a bloody hand to clutch his arm....  
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Malachai jerked out of his sleep. He looked around wildly, his breath ragged and his heart pounding in his chest. The barn was quiet, empty. It was a dream. The same dream he had been having for two years. His only dream. He settled back onto the hay, but would not sleep again tonight. Because now his thoughts were clouded with the only act that had ever made him queasy, ever proved that yes, this humanoid looking thing was indeed human. She had been so innocent of what would befall her, of what he would manipulate her into. Never had a plot fallen into place so easily, and yet never had he cried at the end result of a plot before.   
  
The girl was Miriam. Sweet, kind, and totally dedicated to He Who Walks Behind the Rows. One of Isaac's close inner circle, along with himself and a few others. For one reason or another, he found himself trusting her, and they became close friends. She balanced him, watched him closely, and warned him when he was about to step over the edge. He always took her advice. And then, one day, everything changed. He was in love with her, and could not deny it. Tentatively, he decided that he would tell her and perhaps she would even love him in return. Of course, it was not to be. She was in love with Jeremiah, and there were already plans for the two of them to be wed. Of course it would have to have been Jeremiah. God, how he had hated that smug son-of-a-bitch. Isaac's closest friend, close confidant, the one the girls wanted. He of the blond hair, blue eyes, and perfect smile. The one that knew all the right things to say, the one who could solve any problem. The one who was always three steps ahead of Malachai himself, and the one who now had as his bride the only girl that Malachai would ever love. He had been furious and totally and completely destroyed. And he began to plot his revenge.  
  
It was simple enough, really. Plant the doubts, begin the whispers. Sooner than you would think, the circle began to turn on Jeremiah and Miriam. They had had illicit relations in the fields, he told the others. Miriam was pregnant, he had told Isaac. A pregnancy without the proper joining rituals was a high sin. And why wouldn't Isaac believe him? After all, he was Miriam's closest friend. He knew all her secrets, supposedly. So Isaac had issued the order in a grave and sorrow-filled voice. Malachai was told to take them out to the fields and sacrifice them, then throw their bodies wherever he may. He agreed with mock sadness, because inside he was crowing in victory. He asked the two out to the field (they did not know that a sentence had come down) and unceremoniously slit Jeremiah's throat from behind. It was the next part that would be imprinted in Malachai's mind until his death, and possibly after. Miriam had screamed, and looked at him with tears and the pain of betrayal shimmering in her eyes. She reached out for him, to bring him back from the edge, but it was too late. He thrust the knife into her stomach, then watched as she fell to the ground and bled to death at his feet. When he knew she was dead, he lifted her lifeless frame off of the ground and carried it far from the field, to a barn. In this barn he dug her a grave and with shaking hands lowered her body into it. When he finished covering the grave he stuck the knife deep into the dirt, so that only the handle was visible. And then he cried, because he knew he had severed his lifeline.  
  
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New tears formed in Malachai's eyes and he blinked them away furiously and rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. It never failed. Just one thought of this act brought new waves of regret and grief to the surface. He slowly, painfully stood up and walked unsteadily to the far corner of the barn. He didn't need to search, because his mind would never forget the exact location. The rusted handle of a rusted knife protruded out of the ground, just where it had always been. He knelt down almost reverently, and placed a kiss on the knife handle that marked Miriam's grave. "I just wish you could forgive me, Miriam," he whispered.  
  
But forgiveness was something she was unable to give. 


End file.
